The Last Wish
by shortcircuitify
Summary: She wept. It was fate.


Her eyes scanned the Skellige bar before her, men fist fighting in a corner while barmaids flirted to get extra tips. Her stomach roiled and she took another swing of the swig in her mug, although it didn't help her much. It just made her feel worse, yet she called on one of the barmaids for a refill.

She didn't like drinking – avoided it as much as she could, honestly – but tonight she would be needing it if she were to deal with Geralt. She sighed wearily, and hoped that he would agree to help her.

She just _needed_ to know, and if he truly no longer loved her as it seemed, then at least she would be free of the Djinn's bindings. Perhaps she could find someone new who would truly love her.

(In the back of her mind, she knew she wouldn't, but she still hoped).

Her reunion with Geralt had not gone as she had hoped – far from it, actually.

She would never tell him, but seeing him well and alive in White Orchard had sent her heart into a wild beat – she was so happy that he was there, in front of her, the man she had missed for over a year, that for a moment she forgot all about him with fire-red hair and chestnut eyes.

She had addressed him in her usual tone, but instead of the sarcastic reply she was so used to, that she loved so dearly, he had simply grunted and nodded in reply, never looking her in the eyes. Her heart constricted at the memory, now knowing why he had been so disgusted by seeing her.

Now, she knew. He had moved on, and found love in one Miss Triss Merigold.

She took another swig from her now refilled drink.

Everything had gone downhill from there – Geralt had lost his humorous edge and decided being a true and complete ass to her was the best way to show her that he was no longer interested in her, rarely looking in her eyes and avoiding her presence whenever possible.

Even in the past when he was teasing her, or ruffled by her, his eyes were always warm, a beautiful melted amber. But now, they were cold, and she hated them with a passion. This man before her was not Geralt, and she missed the man she loved with all her heart.

She shook her head. Perhaps that was the work of the Djinn speaking, but either way, she knew that he truly no longer loved her because of the look in his eyes. He had never had it before, even in the worst of their quarrels.

Yet, she still hoped, somewhere in her stupid heart, that distance had simply made things awkward between them, that after Triss, Geralt truly did not know where he stood with her. So, when her dress 'accidentally' ripped while at Crach's banquet, she took the opportunity to show Geralt that she truly was still interested in him. How could she not be? The man held her heart in his bloody hands.

But while she stripped out of her dress, waiting for it to be repaired by her magick, he didn't look at her once, finding more interest in the paintings on her walls.

That had hurt the most, and her stomach twisted again. She pushed the drink away from her, deciding it wasn't doing her any good.

The door to the inn slammed open, and she looked up to see it was none other than the White Wolf himself. Even now, her heart sped up at the sight of him, and she felt ridiculous, like a love-struck teenager.

He approached her, back stiff and eyes filled with that insufferable coldness. He sat down across from her, "Yennefer," the way he said her name made it sound like was a vile poison stuck in his mouth.

She disgusted him – what had she done to lose his favor?

But now was not the time – now, she needed to free herself from the binds of the gods-awful Djinn's curse, and see for herself if Geralt truly hated or loved her, if their fates were truly meant to continue entwining together, or if she would be freed.

Even if she did still love him after the bond breaking, at least she would be free to carve her own path, without being drawn to his eyes again and again by fate.

She went straight to the point, pleading for his help in the task before her, but unwilling to tell him more than needed – she knew that if he knew what she was planning to accomplish, he would disagree immediately.

After she was done, a pregnant pause engulfed them.

"No," he replied, short, and cold, his voice a growl.

Her eyes snapped up to his, and she was certain he could hear her heart breaking.

" _Please,_ Geralt, I won't get farther than a few chats with angry Skelligers. I-I _need_ you," she hated to beg, but she needed to know, and he was the only one who could help her.

 _How ironic._

And it wasn't totally a lie, if she was being honest with herself, she did need him. And wanted him back, badly.

He simply stared at her, his decision obviously final. She was certain if she sat there with him a moment longer, the man she no longer recognized as Geralt, she would hyperventilate and faint. She stood up quickly, not looking at Geralt as she mumbled about heading to Vizima, and left.

Once she was far away from that little Skellige tavern, she collapsed onto her knees and cried. She was trapped to a man that no longer loved her, and she was doomed to follow him.

She wept. It was fate.


End file.
